


Budding Romance

by ravenclawkohai



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pseudoscience, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkohai/pseuds/ravenclawkohai
Summary: Hanahaki: a disease triggered by unrequited love, wherein the victim coughs up flower until the infection is removed surgically, removing the romantic feelings along with the petals, or the romantic feelings are returned (failure to perform surgery in time leads to slow asphyxiation caused by flowers clogging the airway).Part I: Cloud has Hanahaki.Part II: Sephiroth has Hanahaki.





	1. Cloud: Part I

               It was decidedly not something native to Nibelheim. The plant life in the area was sparse but hardy, mostly various forms of evergreens. There were a handful of flora that thrived in the summer, but the season was brief. Overall, the very last thing Nibelheim was known for was its vegetation.

               When faced with the symptoms, none of the (very limited amount of) doctors knew what to do. It was much stranger than anything they had seen before.

Claudia Strife had left Nibelheim without her parents’ permission the day she turned 16. She ran off to Midgar, though it took her quite some time and effort to get there. She refused to discuss the details of her more than ten years as a resident in the city. She returned, 28, pregnant and decidedly out of wedlock. If she wasn’t already an outcast for her decision to leave, she certainly would be for the state she returned in. Her parents had even died while she was away, leaving her entirely without support.

She returned to her hometown fully aware of the disease, parasite, _problem_ she had. With the meager scraps of her savings, she had managed to see a doctor in the city before deciding to leave. _Hanahaki_ , they called it. No one was entirely sure if it was a parasite or if the physical manifestation was caused by some sort of virus, but the effects were the same regardless. All they knew for certain was that it originated in Wutai, as the only truly aged records of it came from the nation.

She could have gotten it at any point in time, simply lying dormant until triggered. Personally, she was convinced she picked it up either on her way to Midgar or somewhere in the slums, but it didn’t much matter.

It started small, as these things tend to. That didn’t mean it wasn’t incredibly alarming when she began choking, something suddenly lodged in her throat. When she had eventually coughed out the single flower petal, she had stared at it in blind confusion for minutes. She hadn’t seen a real flower since Nibelheim, and if she hadn’t seen one since there, it wasn’t like she could have accidentally swallowed it. She put it aside as a strange but singular occurrence and continued on with her life. She wouldn’t put together until much later that it happened the day she met her tall, blond, beautiful boss.

All it had taken was that first stuttered heartbeat and singular butterfly in her stomach to kick it all off. One petal for when they met; him polite and professional, her flustered but smiling, a flicker of something strange in her chest. It took so long for the next occurrence that she had almost forgotten the first. She didn’t choke and gag the way she did the first time when the second time came. She coughed a few times, feeling a tickle in the back of her throat that seemed to stubbornly refuse to dissipate. When she felt the petal against her tongue, it had confused her all over again. Once she pulled out the offending blue scrap, she remembered the first.

In total honesty, she had no clue what to do about it. It was clear something was wrong, but she had no spare money and she wasn’t really sure anyone would _believe_ her about it anyway. Since when could people cough up flowers? It left her too nervous to discuss the matter with friends.

She didn’t realize that the situation grew worse in proportion to the crush she had on her boss. Getting to know him personally, going to get lunch or coffee together, just being around him in general made her heart flutter. She knew he didn’t feel the same, that they were just coworkers who were friends. Moving on her feelings wasn’t something she had even considered, having assumed they would fade in time.

They didn’t, however. As time went on, it was clear that she was in love, not simply crushing on him. She did everything she could think of to try and shake the feeling. She avoided him, went on dates with other men, occasionally brought men home out of drunken desperation to fix the problem, but nothing worked.

Things only grew more complicated with The Accident. They had gone out to a bar with a handful of coworkers; not really anything abnormal, as they had done so a few times, but it wasn’t exactly common either. As per usual, members of their group trickled away as the night went on, citing weekend work, appointments, the need to maintain a proper sleep schedule as reasons on their way out the door. It had just so happened that the last two, that night, had been Claudia and her boss. It had just so happened that _both_ drank significantly more than they intended to. It just so happened that her boss was a flirty drunk and Claudia was an opportunist. Once he started it, she flirted back. Things escalated and escalated until he was kissing her, her back pressed against the bar. When the bartender told them to get a room, they took his advice.

It was bad luck that he was unprepared and she had run out of condoms in her apartment. It was worse luck that she miscounted her days when she had run through the calendar in her head, deeming an incredibly risky time of the month to be entirely safe.

They both agreed in the morning that it never should have happened. Both parties apologized profusely. They promised to never speak of it again, to avoid both future awkwardness and consequences from the company, should they be caught. It broke her heart to have him so close and to be rebuffed, but there was nothing to be done. He simply didn’t share her feelings.

Weeks later, when her pregnancy test ended up positive, she decided to keep the information to herself. Theoretically, there was a (very small) chance that her boss wasn’t the father. She used that as her excuse not to mention it to him. If he grew suspicious when she started to show, well, neither said anything about it.

As time passed, the disease itself progressed. What had started with occasional petals grew in frequency until it became a daily occurrence. When it began to happen multiple times a day, the petals grew in number. The first time a full flower had come up, she knew she couldn’t ignore it any longer. It had drained her financially to do so, but she finally went to that doctor.

It was, admittedly, comforting to have a name for the disease. It was _decidedly_ comforting to know that she wasn’t the only one who had the illness. It was _beyond_ discomforting to hear the details of it.

She had thought more than once that her feelings were killing her slowly, but to have it turn out to be true was harsh. Hanahaki: a disease triggered by unrequited love, wherein the victim coughs up flower until the infection is removed surgically, removing the romantic feelings along with the petals, or the romantic feelings are returned (failure to perform surgery in time leads to slow asphyxiation caused by flowers clogging the airway). After all the time that had passed and The Accident, it was clear that her feelings would never be requited. It had also drained her savings for the simple doctor’s visit; surgery was out of the question.

It took several days of denial and weeping to come to terms with the fact that she was outright doomed. She could, theoretically, have borrowed money or taken out a loan, and she might have if the situation was different. But Hanahaki, while a known disease, was incredibly rare. There was a total of one surgeon in Midgar who was trained to treat it, and her prices were astronomical. She was more than a little bitter that her love had become a death sentence.

There was, however, little to be done about it. The doctor had given her an estimate of ten months to live. It would be enough to set her affairs in order.

The first decision she made was to leave Midgar. The birth of her child would be a near thing; if things progressed too quickly she might even die before she could bear the child. She had no money for the child to inherit, and she decidedly did not trust orphanages in Midgar. The only real option she had left was to return home. She knew that Nibelheim would hate her. But she also knew that the town was a close knit community that took care of their own. She may be the wayward black sheep, but she was still a part of the flock. She couldn’t imagine that they would abandon an innocent newborn out of some grudge they held for her. It was the only option that gave her child a fighting chance.

It had, in the end, come incredibly close. If she hadn’t had her child, she might have lasted longer. As it was, the stress her body was under during labor dramatically worsened her illness. She only barely had a chance to hold her son in her arms, tired and teary. They had to take him away when her coughing became too severe. The flowers were coming up bloody by this point. It had taken a struggle and a gasp, but she just barely managed to name her son before choking, the life slowly fading from her eyes.

Nibelheim had no orphanage, but Claudia’s instincts were correct. Cloud was taken in by an elderly couple. While his needs were met and the couple was kind, Nibelheim was not gentle to him. He was a pariah, as his mother was. An orphaned son with no father, whose mother brought a strange disease with her as well as her bastard son, running home with her tail between her legs from the Great Big City. After a point, he was called “bastard” more often than his own name.

When word had reached Nibelheim of the SOLDIERs, of Sephiroth, Cloud had been quick to follow in his mother’s footsteps. There was no love lost between him and Nibelheim. He found the journey to Midgar to be as difficult as his mother’s, but he shared her strong will and determination.

There was a fine line between hero worship and a crush, and Cloud toed it dangerously. His mother had passed the disease onto him without anyone’s awareness, waiting to be triggered. He likely would have stayed safely in hero worship territory if it hadn’t been for Zack.

Zack, who, upon learning of said hero worship, was determined to introduce Cloud to his idol. Cloud had, much like his mother upon meeting the cause of her own demise, been a flustered mess. Sephiroth, much like his mother’s boss, had been polite. Cloud was decidedly not a social butterfly, but he was a highly empathic individual. Once his outright excitement faded, Sephiroth’s discomfort was clear. It made perfect sense, really. The last thing he needed was _another_ fan who saw his image but nothing of the man beneath.

He had, briefly, been ashamed of his initial reaction. Instead of dwelling on it, however, he turned the infamous Strife Determination toward befriending the general sincerely. He was still awkward, but he was always awkward, and he paid attention to the cues Sephiroth gave, even if they were faint and hard to spot beneath his stoicism. He put in an honest effort to learn about who Sephiroth was as an individual (Zack’s pride in his attempts obvious), and it seemed to work. Somehow, a young, inexperienced cadet wormed his way into friendship with the most elite fighters in the entirety of Shinra.

The nature of their friendship was nothing extraordinary.  They went out to eat. They had movie nights. They hung around aimlessly in each other’s apartments, simply enjoying the company. They binged through multiple reality television shows, which Zack had introduced to both Cloud and Sephiroth, who were surprisingly enthralled by the interpersonal drama with the contestants. Sephiroth attempted to teach Cloud how to cook, though it always ended disastrously. Eventually, they came to hang out without Zack, who had been the initially necessary bridge between them.

He had entered very dangerous territory with this friendship. That hero worship faded as he came to know Sephiroth, disappearing more with the increasing amount of time they were spending together. Perhaps it was _because_ of that initial hero worship that what he felt for Sephiroth was more intense than simple friendship. He told himself that, if he cared for Sephiroth more intensely than Zack, it might just be because the general had, somehow, become his best friend.

Perhaps it was the winding development of and frequently changing nature of their relationship. Perhaps having been born with Hanahaki made Cloud resistant to its effects. The root of the matter was unclear, but he had been given an initial grace period, the effects not appearing immediately. However, they did still appear before Cloud was even fully aware of his feelings for Sephiroth.

It began much the way his mother’s did: one petal at a time. He, similarly, thought of the total lack of natural flowers in Midgar when the first petal had appeared. He was equally disturbed when the consistency of the issue made it clear that it wouldn’t pass on its own. As a member of Shinra, he had ready access to health care, but he refused to go to the infirmary over it. If he was found to have some sort of disease, his potential entry to the SOLDIER program would be delayed at best, outright denied at worst. He wasn’t willing to risk it.

When questioned, he complained of allergies, the most innocuous explanation he could think of. He was told they would clear up with mako, making it a similarly safe excuse, as it didn’t disqualify him from the program. He learned sleight of hand, tucking petals against his palm with his thumb until he could deposit them in his pocket. He occasionally had to swallow them to hide the evidence. When Sephiroth and Zack expressed concern, he gave them the same allergy excuse, and though they seemed less convinced, they let the matter slide at first.

When he was producing full flowers multiple times per day, he was significantly less convincing. They were more difficult to smuggle away in secrecy to start with, and were more difficult to cough up, requiring longer hacking fits. He developed a slight wheeze and began having difficulty catching his breath; his CO suggested he might have asthma. He was sent to the infirmary to investigate the matter, but he skipped the visit entirely. That didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t growing more concerned and afraid as things grew worse.

He knew, he _knew_ it had become truly dangerous. He knew he should talk to someone, anyone. He knew he was worrying his friends, and he was honestly worrying himself too. He knew it was stupid to risk his life for a chance at SOLDIER, but he was still in denial. He was too stubborn for his own good.

It had taken things getting outright out of hand for the matter to be addressed.

He and Sephiroth had been watching one of their (admittedly trashy) reality television shows; Zack had grown tired of them, so they became something Cloud and Sephiroth only watched when they were alone.

Cloud had audibly gasped as one contestant slapped another; his reaction was enough to earn a sidelong glance and a smirk from Sephiroth. When Cloud gasped again, with more difficulty this time, a hand coming up to press against his throat, he did a double take. Cloud devolved into a coughing fit, doubled over, hand pressed against his mouth, the other wrapped around his waist. He’d had good luck lately, and hadn’t had an episode like this in front of either Zack or Sephiroth in a few weeks. That unfortunately also meant that they hadn’t seen the way it had taken a decided turn for the worst.

Sephiroth paused the show, turning to Cloud with a look of concern, his hands half-risen to help, though he had no idea what to do. Cloud was coughing for significantly longer than he had last time this occurred. He had been so ready to offer excuses, but he watched in horror as a single yellow primrose slipped from between his fingers. He knew his cover was blown, Sephiroth looking between him and the flower in confusion, taken aback and baffled. He wanted to offer excuses, but he still couldn’t get a decent breath in. His eyes were beginning to water from the effort of coughing. Eventually, his hands became too full, sunny, blood-flecked primroses slipped from his grip in a steady trickle until Sephiroth, with a look of grim determination on his face, reached out and pulled his hand from his mouth.

A small bouquet fell from his fingers in a riot of gory rosebuds and peonies and orange blossoms. The flow refused to stop in what was decidedly his worst episode ever. It wasn’t until a long strand of sweet peas finally fell from his lips in what had been a choking vine that he could finally pull in a deep breath of air. He brought his spare hand to his knee, grip white-knuckled, leaning on it as he slowly caught his breath.

Sephiroth had the decency to wait until the fit was over, but when Cloud turned his gaze in the opposite direction with seemingly no intention of acknowledging what had happened, he ran out of patience.

He stood up and yanked Cloud to his feet behind him. Without waiting, he began to pull Cloud toward the door, despite the way the blond dug his heels in.

“Wait! Wait, Sephiroth, just—stop it!” He tugged back on his hand, but Sephiroth’s grip was like a vise. He did, however, listen.

Sephiroth turned to him with one eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for an explanation.

“I—… we can talk about it, but can we stay here?” he asked, still reluctant to meet Sephiroth’s eyes. He stared at the bloody bouquet he left on the floor instead.

It was a long moment as Sephiroth considered him before he let go of his wrist and returned to his seat on the couch. Cloud followed, head hung low, stepping carefully around the flowers.

When it was clear that Cloud wasn’t going to speak despite his promise, Sephiroth said, “Well?”

Cloud picked at the hem of his trooper uniform shirt, widening an already existing fraying hole.

“I don’t have allergies,” he mumbled, hoping to avoid the conversation purely by speaking too low.

With a frown, Sephiroth asked, “You’ve said you have allergies for as long as I’ve known you.”

Cloud just shrugged. He didn’t seem inclined to break the silence, so Sephiroth spoke again.

“Has this been happening the entire time?” he asked. Cloud winced a little.

After a long pause, he admitted, “Yes.”

It was Sephiroth’s turn to pause as he flicked back through his memories. Yes, Cloud had claimed he had allergies for almost the entire time he’d known the blond. When he considered it, it was clear things were getting worse. He’d heard the reports of possible asthma from Cloud’s CO, had witnessed the coughing fits grow both more frequent and longer in duration. He obviously had some sort of illness, and it was progressing.

He got to his feet again, declaring, “We’re going to the infirmary.”

Cloud immediately reached out and snagged his wrist, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.

“I can’t,” he said, making Sephiroth’s brow wrinkle all over again.

“Cloud, whatever illness you have is getting worse. Your health is at, possibly severe, risk if you continue to refuse,” he explained, watching Cloud chew nervously at the corner of his lip.

“If I go, they’ll kick me out of the program.”

Sephiroth looked stunned. Then he looked at him like it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

“First, the only case in which you would be barred from the program is if the disease is incurable and hinders your ability to perform. If your illness is so severe, you have bigger concerns than the program. If it remains untreated, your performance will be hindered regardless, and you would still be barred from the program. The only way you make it in is if you are treated and recover. These are all technicalities, but are also the rules for SOLDIER admittance.

“I can see why you think what you do. But you are not a stupid person, Cloud. You know a chance at SOLDIER isn’t worth laying down your life. What were you thinking?”

Cloud released Sephiroth’s wrist and looked back down. He nudged a peony with his toe.

“You don’t know it could kill me,” he argued lamely. He knew he was in the wrong as soon as he voiced the meager point that he had been telling himself for months to justify his actions. It sounded plain stupid when he said it out loud.

Sephiroth was, by no means, a man good at offering comfort. He had no idea how to handle people when they were upset. He had seen nurses, SOLDIERs, troopers soothe people before, knew theoretically what correct words or actions might be given, but the application was tricky. He was too stiff, too emotionally distant for any of it to work. Even his delivery of the lines tended to be poor. But it was clear that this had been eating Cloud up inside in more ways than one. He had to try.

He sat next to the cadet, body angled toward him, and put one hand on his shoulder, a gesture he had learned from Zack.

“You don’t know that it won’t,” he countered. “It’s done nothing but get worse, Cloud. It isn’t worth the risk.”

He had been considering withdrawing because of the awkward silence, certain he’d failed in his task, when Cloud sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re probably right,” he admitted quietly.

Sephiroth stood and held a hand out toward Cloud, who took it very reluctantly and kept hold of it for a few seconds too long. He deemed it a success as he led Cloud from his apartment to the infirmary.

As Sephiroth was not a blood relative, he wasn’t allowed to accompany Cloud in his appointment. He took the time to find an unused room where he would have the privacy to call Zack and inform him of the new development with their friend. He had been initially as outraged as he was concerned. He questioned Cloud’s intelligence much the same way Sephiroth had, though with more swearing involved. It was only once the reaction was out of his system that he agreed to come stay with him in the waiting room for news.

Cloud’s reluctance hadn’t faded as he spoke first to a nurse, than to a doctor. The nurse looked outright perturbed and left without a word to find a doctor. The doctor had looked grim when he arrived, though he listened patiently and silently as Cloud relayed his symptoms again. There had been a brief pause where the doctor filled a paper with notes before looking back up at Cloud, hands folded in front of him.

“You have what is referred to as the Hanahaki disease. Unrequited feelings of love trigger the latent, inert illness. The body produces flowers in the lungs and trachea. You have, so far, been successful in coughing everything up, keeping your airways free for the most part. As you’ve already noticed, however, the disease progresses if untreated. If left as is, your condition will deteriorate until the flowers block your airways entirely, suffocating you. The only natural cure for the disease is the feelings of love to be returned.

“I have no intentions of dashing your hopes entirely. There is a chance that could happen. However, in cases that have progressed this far, it is very unlikely; if the other person were to return your affections, they likely would have done so by now. The only other treatment is surgery to remove the infection. Your feelings for the other person will be removed with the infection itself. The surgery itself is incredibly long and difficult, and there are very few people in the world who have experience with it, as Hanahaki is a rare illness.

“As you are well aware, Shinra Company provides health care free of charge for all its employees and cadets. This does, however, only cover in-house treatment. Any other of your needs could be met, but the rarity of Hanahaki means that there are no surgeons in Shinra’s employ who have experience with the surgery.

“You have three options. You can refuse treatment entirely and hope that you are cured naturally, though the mortality rate for this option is incredibly high. You can go to a professional with experience in this treatment, but the prices would be exorbitant. Considering that I only know of four doctors on the entirety of the eastern continent that have said experience, your likely cost would be millions of gil, at the least. You can also have one of Shinra’s surgeons treat you despite their inexperience. The delicate and difficult nature of the procedure would put you at a high risk for potentially severe complications.

Cloud took in the information quietly, numbly. Every option was bleak. He cursed his heart for the way it stubbornly clung to his love for Sephiroth, for the way it was apparently literally killing him.

When he didn’t answer, the doctor continued, “I understand that this is a difficult decision. Please, take your time and consider your options carefully. If you decide to pursue treatment, return here, and we’ll proceed.”

“Thank you,” Cloud muttered before leaving the room, still in a daze.

Sephiroth and Zack looked up in synch, both dropping their conversation immediately as Cloud approached. The distant look on his face didn’t bode well.

Zack was the first to his feet, moving quickly to Cloud’s side. He put one hand on each of his shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“Hey, buddy,” Zack said. “How’re you feeling?”

Cloud blinked slowly and shook his head.

“I think… I think I’m going to go back to the barracks,” he said. He had yet to make eye contact with them.

“Are you sure?” Zack asked, face pinched in concerned.

“Yes.”

Cloud was never particularly loquacious, but he was also never quite this curt.

“Okay,” Zack said, clearly reluctant, as he stepped out of Cloud’s way. “Call if you need us.”

Cloud didn’t so much as nod on his way out. He didn’t see the two exchange worried looks behind his back.

He never actually made it to the barracks. Instead, he left Shinra Tower; the night air was cold and bit at his skin, but he failed to notice. He crossed the running track to a shed full of obstacle course equipment, where he circled around it to sit against the back. It wasn’t the most private of spaces, but it was where he hid when he needed to get away. Anyone could potentially find him, but no one ever came back into this little corner.

He stared blandly, unblinking, up at the sky. Through all the smog and light pollution, he couldn’t make out much of it. The moon hung full in the sky, but none of the surrounds stars were visible. Just the inky blackness, that glowing circle, and the towering forest of steel and glass around him, nestled as he was in the city. He wasn’t sure exactly how long he stayed there, but over time, the numbness faded. His shoulder began to twitch and his breath hitched. Despite trying to fight it back, it wasn’t long before he devolved into tears. His knees were pulled to his chest, face pressed against them, his arms wrapped around his legs and clinging. It was lucky that this spot was secluded and that it was an uncrowded night, because he was by no means quiet. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried so hard.

It went for hours. He would cry himself out, then try to collect himself and consider his terrible, terrible options. He remembered his meager paycheck, then his nearly nonexistent savings. That skilled surgeon was not an option. It was when he tried to look to his remaining options that he kept ending up in tears.

Sephiroth had mentioned his aromanticism off-hand. Zack had joked about the swarms of men and women who swooned for him and Sephiroth rolled his eyes claiming that more than a few would be deterred if they knew he couldn’t love them back. Zack had laughed then and admitted that most were probably only after his body or his title anyway, no actual romance attached. It had confused Cloud entirely, but as he was the only one who didn’t seem to follow the conversation, he ignored it. He asked Zack when they were alone next, and his friend had explained readily. It had been disappointing to hear that the person he loved was incapable of loving him back romantically.

In light of the recent news, it was much more than disappointing.

He had laughed in a fit of hysteria at the idea. It was just his luck. With Hanahaki taken into consideration, Sephiroth’s aromanticism was a death sentence. He couldn’t blame Sephiroth, couldn’t even blame himself. It wasn’t that Sephiroth was out of his league or that Cloud wasn’t enough. There was nothing he could have done better, no mistake that he made. There was no arrogance from Sephiroth keeping them apart, he didn’t view him as lesser or unworthy. He couldn’t fault Sephiroth for being aromantic any more than he could fault the sky for being blue. And somehow, that stung more.

His only options were death or risky surgery. Some part of him screamed against the surgery, crowing his love for Sephiroth loud and proud. It was a secret he had kept near and dear, so close to the heart of him that the idea of letting the feelings go cut him deep. He loved Sephiroth fiercely, and somewhere along the way, that love simply became a part of who he was. Losing his love would be like losing a lung.

Despite that part of him and the dramatic romantic nature of the gesture, he couldn’t really choose to die for the sake of his love. It was an unrequited, unnecessary thing that meant nothing to anyone but him. It was, objectively, worthless. It just didn’t matter. The part of him that clung to those feelings would have almost overridden that fact, if it hadn’t been for Sephiroth himself. If, by some strange, terrible miracle, Sephiroth found out that he was the object of his affection, that his feelings for him were what was killing him, he’d likely be horrified. Imagine how terrible it would be for him if he knew that Cloud’s love for him had literally killed him. He couldn’t put that on Sephiroth’s shoulders. It just wouldn’t be fair.

Learning he only truly had one, awful option was by no means a painless or easy process. But it was done in that one hellish night, and the new knowledge left him utterly drained. He returned to the tower and went into the showers, where he stood under the spray for at least an hour, his forehead pressed to the cold tile.

He only left the shower when he heard the last of the movement in the halls taper off. The cadets had all gone on to their classes, leaving him entirely alone in the barracks. He had stopped caring about hiding the evidence during the night. He knew he left a pile of blood-speckled flowers scattering the area where he had spent the night. He watched more flowers clog the drain of the shower.

He dressed quickly after his extended shower. Cloud was, by nature, stubborn and determined. Once he reached a decision, he was quick to act on it. He had reached his conclusion during the night, and now it was time to take action (if only partially because he was afraid he’d lose his nerve if he waited). He only had one small pit-stop to make on the way.

He was antsy as he rode the elevator. Shinra tower was a tall building, and getting up to the upper levels from the barracks took a while. Took too long, actually. The courage he had worked up for this task was starting to fade, leaving him only pure stubbornness to fall back on. It would be enough to carry him through.

After everything, he wasn’t really asking for so much. He was sure Sephiroth wouldn’t begrudge him this once he heard the full story. These were his last hours in love; he needed to make them count. If nothing else, he wanted one sweet memory to hold onto when it was all over.

When he knocked on Sephiroth’s door, he strangely didn’t hear an immediate answer. Normally Sephiroth would give him permission to go inside pretty quickly. He waited, trying to listen to what was happening in the room, but came up with nothing. He knocked again. After sitting in a similar silence for a while, he reached out to try the knob itself, just in time to see the door open.

Sephiroth peeked out around the inch-wide gap he had opened, eyes squinted. When he saw it was Cloud, he opened the door the rest of the way. He stood in the doorway, dressed in his usual black leathers, but in total disarray. He moved aside to let Cloud in and shut the door behind him.

From his state and the rumpled blanket on the couch, it was clear Sephiroth had spent the night in his office. He had been unable to sleep last night in his concern for Cloud, and had gone to his office to get work done, since he was apparently going to stay awake. It was only after dawn that he grew tired enough to try and squeeze in a few hours before he was interrupted. Cloud guessed absently at this truth, but dismissed it, sure he wouldn’t be the cause of Sephiroth losing sleep. The man’s hair was ruffled and his eyes were heavy and bleary. He yawned and rubbed sleepily at his eye before returning to the couch and gesturing silently to the armchair across from it.

Seeing Sephiroth still half-asleep brought a swell of affection. It was a sign of his trust in Cloud that he’d been admitted into the room at all. He felt safe with Cloud, he trusted him enough to allow him to be present while he was still sleepy and vulnerable. It didn’t help that, if he just pretended they weren’t in his office, it would almost be as if he was seeing Sephiroth emerge from a bedroom they shared, in a home that was _theirs_ ; a sweet, sweet, impossible fantasy.

He hesitated a moment too long, trapped in that rush of love, making Sephiroth look up at him. Damn all of it to hell, he shouldn’t have come. This was making it so, so much harder to do what he had to. He wanted nothing more than to sit with Sephiroth and talk, the way they always did, to feel the flutter of butterflies in his stomach and the sweet, singing affection in the back of his head. Briefly, death didn’t seem so harsh, not if he went out filled to the brim with love the way he was right now.

“I need to ask you for something. A favor,” he said, still on his feet.

Sephiroth blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes and said, “I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”

Cloud gave a brief, sad smile.

“You’re not going to like it. You’re probably going to be mad at me at first. I promise, there’s a really good reason behind it, I just can’t tell you right now.”

Sephiroth looked confused, but not yet wary.

“What is it?”

Cloud shifted on his feet.

“Just trust me?” he asked, sounding hesitant. It only confused Sephiroth more.

“Of course I trust you,” he said, and it broke Cloud’s heart a little more to hear it. In another world, in another lifetime, gods, that would mean something different.

“Just promise you’ll remember that I have a reason, even if I can’t tell you yet, and try not to get mad.”

Sephiroth still looked bewildered, but he nodded.

Cloud crossed to stand in front of him, their knees almost knocking. He bent at the knees and waist, bringing his hands up to cup Sephiroth’s upturned face and hold it in place. Gently, he pressed their lips together.

It was nothing sexual. There was no heat or lust. Cloud made no move to deepen the kiss, didn’t move his lips at all from where he placed them. It was chaste, but he poured every ounce of affection he had into that simple kiss. He didn’t care in that moment if Sephiroth knew his secret. All that mattered was the single point where they were connected and the way love seemed to spill from every pore on him. He was careful to commit it all to memory, every detail. The way Sephiroth’s lips were soft beneath his, the warmth of his face between his hands. The way he didn’t move away, didn’t even startle at the contact. The rush of feeling that swelled tight in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it meant the world to him.

When he pulled away he didn’t go far, hesitating a moment, letting out a shaky breath with his eyes still closed.

He assumed Sephiroth would feel angry and betrayed. He had enough of those rabid followers who lusted after him. Cloud could only imagine how much it would sting for him to think that Cloud had only ever wanted his body or his title, everything else a ruse to get there. It was far, far from the truth, but there was no way for Sephiroth to know until he revealed his feelings, and he couldn’t do that, not yet, or he would come very, very close to backing out of the surgery entirely.

He expected fury and hurt when he leaned away and opened his eyes, but Sephiroth was looking at him with nothing but confusion and concern. He still trusted him. He hadn’t ruined everything he built for that one brief moment to cling to when all else was gone.

An intense feeling of loss overcame him. It was real. It was over. The next time he saw this man, the love would be gone. Unrequited love was its own form of hell, but he would take every ounce of pain it offered if he could just continue to love this man. He meant so much. So _damn_ much, and now it was time to say goodbye. He knew it wouldn’t bother him when the surgery was over, that he could remember the love fondly without feeling like a huge hole was left in his chest. But that didn’t mean it didn’t tear at every part of him to leave his love behind.

He couldn’t stop the few, brief tears that slid down his face. The smile he offered was sad and trembling. Sephiroth immediately got to his feet, placing his hands on Cloud’s shoulders, tense concern writ large on his face.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, and it was not a question. “You can tell me what it is. You aren’t alone.”

Oh, but he was alone in his love, and he always would be.

He shook his head, rubbing away the tears with his hands before sniffing and standing up straight. The smile he offered was more solid, if still sad.

“I have to go do something, but I promise, I’ll tell you as soon as I’m done.”

“Are you sure? I could come with you.”

Cloud’s smile twitched just a hair wider.

“I wish you could,” he said, with such sincerity that Sephiroth was confused all over again, trying to think of what the doctor could have told him that they ended up here.

Cloud stepped away gently, flashed that smile again, and then ducked out of the room, leaving Sephiroth to stare at the door in wonder.

The elevator ride to the infirmary was torture. The feeling of loss plagued him through the journey and into the meeting with the doctor. He told the doctor his choice and insisted on having the procedure done as soon as possible.

The doctor had been in the process of telling him that they were booked and it couldn’t be done immediately when Cloud had another coughing fit. It was severe enough to change the doctor’s mind. He deemed it an emergency surgery and gathered a crew as quick as he could. It was a whirlwind of movement, and before Cloud knew what was happening, he was already unconscious on a gurney.

There was no one formally trained in handling Hanahaki on the team. The surgeon herself had only ever seen it once, and most of her knowledge of treatment came from her days in medical school. The procedure was extremely long, and though she did her best, it was far from perfect. She managed to clear the foliage itself from the lungs and throat and even the few tendrils that had spread to the heart. She removed the diseased tissue, taking away more than she was strictly happy about, but his vitals were fine, and she could see no complications. Cloud was stitched up and put into an infirmary bed to rest and recover.

By the time Sephiroth was able to find out that Cloud had entered the infirmary for major surgery, it was well past visiting hours. He brought Zack up to speed, not mentioning the kiss, and the two were at his bedside first thing in the morning.

Cloud had been sleeping on and off since he had first woken and didn’t feel any different, really. He could finally breathe clearly again, in the first time in a very, very long time, but that was it. He was asleep when his friends arrived.

He was also not awake when the nurses came in to check on him. He was not awake when Zack asked what had been wrong with their friend. He was not awake when the nurse told them of his condition, and certainly not when the truth dawned on Sephiroth. The general’s eyes turned toward Cloud as the nurse continued to give details.

All this time, Cloud had loved him. He’d never said a word about it, gave no real hint toward it until the kiss. The brief hurt that had passed through him with the assumptions that accompanied the kiss were instantly soothed. He _loved_ him. He loved him for the man he had come to know, not that idealized image so many claimed to love. Someone had gotten to know him for him and fell in _love_. It wasn’t a thing he had ever considered happening.

In the same breath, he felt guilt wash over him. He knew that being aromantic wasn’t something he chose. It wasn’t like he hadn’t returned Cloud’s feelings out of spite, or even out of anything he could control. Still, he had been the one Cloud loved. He had been the catalyst. Had they never met, would Cloud have fallen ill at all? Would he have fallen in love with someone who loved him in return and avoid the issue entirely? It was useless to guess at what-if’s, but they passed through him anyway. The only small mercy was that Cloud had access to medical care. He was unaware that the surgical team had no experience in handling Hanahaki when he briefly felt grateful. Perhaps if he had, it wouldn’t have felt grateful at all.

When Cloud woke next, the nurse was gone, and Zack and Sephiroth were chatting. It was Zack who realized that he was awake, and he immediately lit up at the sight.

“Cloud!” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”

He groaned in response and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Like I just had surgery,” he answered, Zack mock laughing in response.

“Really, are you okay?” he pressed, and Cloud nodded.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “What are you two doing here? I thought you’d be busy.”

Both men gave him a scolding look.

“You had surgery and, apparently, almost died. That’s worth calling out for,” Zack said, as if he was being ridiculous. Cloud just shrugged, so he continued on. “You should have told us, or at least gone to the infirmary earlier, it didn’t have to get that bad.”

Cloud shrugged again.

“I didn’t want to get kicked out of the program or make things awkward,” he admitted, though it earned him a confused look from Zack. Sephiroth quietly gave him a knowing look.

“Why would things get awkward?” Zack asked.

Entirely blasé, Cloud admitted, “It was Sephiroth I was in love with.”

Zack looked between them in shock, but Sephiroth narrowed his eyes as he looked at Cloud. He knew the surgery removed the romantic feelings, but he thought they would have had to pry that from the blond. He had expected fluster and embarrassment, not nonchalance.

“Well, that would do it, wouldn’t it,” Zack said, flicking one last confused look toward Sephiroth, not understanding the inspecting look on his face.

“You two don’t have to stay here, I know you have work to do,” Cloud said. This only confused Sephiroth more. He was also expecting Cloud to give some sort of explanation for the kiss, as he had promised. It was unnecessary, but strange that he skipped it. Cloud tended to go out of his way to please the people he cared about, and leaving Sephiroth potentially still angry with him was out of character.

“But—”

“Zack, they’re letting me out at the end of the day, it’s not like I’m gonna suddenly die. If you’re that worried, you can come pick me up when they release me.”

“… If you’re sure.”

“I am. Go ahead, do your jobs.”

Zack left the room with a frown, but Sephiroth lingered at Cloud’s bedside.

“I want you to know that I’m not upset with you. I know now why you did what you did and I don’t hold it against you.”

He said it, mostly, out of the chance that Cloud was bottling up his emotions and concerns, that this was secretly eating at him. But he did watch carefully when he responded.

“Good to know,” he said with a nod.

That was it. No relief, no expected “thank gods,” no smile. Not even an unnecessary apology or request for reassurance. Something was off. Something was _wrong_.

He gave nothing more but a nod in return before he left to join Zack in the hallway.

“Something is wrong with Cloud,” he said as soon as the door shut behind him. Zack looked over at him in surprise.

“Did he say something? Should we get a nurse?” Zack asked, already looking around for one. Sephiroth shook his head and took hold of Zack’s bicep, leading them both from the infirmary. The empty hallways offered more privacy.

“He’s acting out of character,” he explained, standing across from his friend, arms folded.

“Well, I mean, he just woke up after a serious operation, and they probably have him doped up on a lot of pain meds,” Zack countered, though he was now also frowning.

“Pain medication shouldn’t alter one’s personality so severely, but I suppose it’s possible,” Sephiroth conceded with hesitance, latching onto the hope that this was temporary. “Still, keep an eye out for strange behavior, if you can.”

Zack agreed, and followed up on that promise as soon as they retrieved Cloud. He seemed to have no real opinion on what they did, where they went, or what they ate, but it wasn’t uncommon for Cloud to keep his preferences to himself in order to let his friends have their first choice. He seemed distant and disconnected from conversation, but they _were_ told the dosages of his pain medication, and anyone would be fuzzy in that state. The only truly suspicious thing was the consistency of his strange behavior.

Sephiroth was convinced when he offered Cloud his spare room for the night. He claimed it was to have someone nearby in case something went wrong with him medically. He did it more to see his reaction and to observe his behavior.

Cloud had blinked in surprise, then shrugged.

“Sure,” he said. “It’s better than the barracks cots.”

There should have been some sort of distress. He should have been uncomfortable to be around Sephiroth for extended periods of time, considering Sephiroth’s new knowledge. At the very least, he should have been hesitant. It would have also fit for him to doubt that he would be wanted after potentially making things awkward. He didn’t even double check if Sephiroth was sure. Not to mention that every time Cloud stayed over, it was to have more time to spend together, not for access to a more comfortable bed.

He didn’t let on that he believed the behavior to be out of character, but he did catch Zack’s eye, who was surprised and confused.

Alerted to the problem, both Zack and Sephiroth kept careful watch on their friend. The more time went by, the clearer it became that something was amiss. Whether it was friends, enemies, classes, training, or even food, Cloud seemed entirely indifferent. His reasoning behind things turned strange as he stopped considering what other people would want over his own needs. The clearest indicator was, honestly, his face. It was like he had turned into Sephiroth overnight, but worse. Cloud had always been an emotional person. He wore his heart on his sleeve, what he was feeling stitched into every line of his body language, his face an expressive open book. Suddenly, he was entirely closed off. No matter what they did, they couldn’t get a facial expression out of him. Even Sephiroth had little tells to what he was feeling, but Cloud was utterly blank.

When Sephiroth realized what the problem was, he marched directly down to the infirmary. He insisted on speaking to the surgeon who had worked on Cloud and threw his political weight around to get her to speak to him immediately, despite being with another patient.

“How many times have you treated Hanahaki?” Sephiroth asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He knew her answer before she gave it.

“Strife’s case was my first time,” she said, bewildered, with no idea why she had been called out here for this.

“Then it’s possible that you may have made a mistake during the procedure,” he said, failing to put it in the form of a question. Her brow wrinkled further.

“I suppose so; it’s a tricky surgery, but everything looked right when we closed him up. Has there been some sort of problem?” she asked.

Sephiroth took a moment to rein in his temper and remember that it wasn’t this woman’s fault that she was inexperienced.

“Is it possible that you may have removed his ability to feel _anything_ , as opposed to only his romantic inclinations?”

The woman actively paled.

“It shouldn’t be. If that happened, something should have looked wrong.”

“Would it not also be possible that, as a result of your inexperience, you failed to recognize that something did look wrong.” Again, it wasn’t a question. They both knew what had happened.

“It _should_ have…”

He didn’t wait to hear the rest.

Instead, he began to do his own research. It took longer than he hoped for, but he did manage to find someone with a history of successfully treating Hanahaki within the city.

When he got the woman on the phone, he got his answer.

“That’s the most common complication. Unless you’ve put in a lot of hours, most people don’t know what they’re looking at. Once the infection begins, the emotional tissue around the lungs and heart mimics the appearance of the infected tissue but remains healthy. There’s a slight difference in color between the infection and mimicking tissue. The surgeon probably thought it was all infected and removed the healthy tissue as well.”

“What are the options in that scenario?”

“There aren’t any, really. Emotional tissue isn’t reliably regenerative. It happens sometimes, when someone has a lot of luck and a lot of medical traits that align just right, but it’s a one in one hundred chance of it happening. There’s zero chance of it regenerating if all of the tissue is removed, which seems to be what happened to the person you’re referring to. The body can’t produce more and there has never been a successful transplant. I’m sorry, but there is no way to help the patient in question.”

He politely thanked the woman for her time and hung up. He immediately began making a series of other calls.

Maybe he couldn’t _blame_ the surgeon for her inexperience, but he could certainly hold it against her.

Before the day was out, she was fired from Shinra and had her license revoked for medical malpractice in the form of unnecessary patient endangerment.

It soothed some of his anger, but did nothing for the pit in his stomach. He put his head in his hands. If he hadn’t felt guilty before, he did now. The fact that he had done nothing wrong and had no say in the matter did nothing to make him feel better.

Cloud was gone. Forever. The person living in his skin was a complete stranger. _His_ Cloud had been full of life. He felt so deeply and cared so much. He was open with his emotions, his own joy spreading happiness to everyone around him. He had been a beacon of feeling, and that light had been snuffed out. He already missed him painfully.

That kiss goodbye suddenly meant a great deal more. He held it as close as Cloud would have, if he hadn’t come out of the surgery emotionally maimed.

He found himself wishing he had said more. That he had done more. That he had insisted Cloud involve him in the matter. It was clear, now that he had all the pieces, how Cloud had come to the decision he did. But he had failed to consider his friends. Sephiroth was paid exorbitant amounts of money and spent very, very little of it. He would have been more than happy to help Cloud; the money meant nothing to him, but Cloud had been precious. And now he was gone.

Not even the depths of the Wutai War had left him feeling so helpless. He spent what must have been hours sitting quietly with his face in his palms, mourning. He was only brought out of it when an alarm on his PHS went off, a reminder of his scheduled monthly mako injection. He had turned off the alarm more aggressively than was necessary and had the phone halfway to his ear to reschedule when the idea hit him.

It was a bad one. A _really_ bad one. He knew better. It was at least five levels beyond stupid. But it lit a faint flicker of hope in him that he couldn’t quite quash.

His _did_ know someone who had performed medical mysteries. The SOLDIERS, Sephiroth himself were testaments that, sometimes, the impossible could be done.

He would have to set very strict boundaries and oversee the process himself. He couldn’t trust Hojo not to cross the line into the inhumane. There was no way he would allow the professor to experiment on Cloud, even if the soul he had known was vacant. But if he could find a way to regrow that emotional tissue in Cloud, or do a proper transplant, maybe, just maybe, there was a chance. It was entirely possible that there would be no solution without human experimentation. If it came to that, he would close the project immediately, even if it meant losing Cloud.

It was risky and stupid and a terrible idea, but he couldn’t put it out of his head. Even if he came to regret it later, he knew it would plague him until he caved. He couldn’t _not_ try.

Cloud was too precious to give up on.


	2. Cloud: Part II

He refused to bring Zack in on the matter; he didn’t need the lecture. It wasn’t like he could even defend his decision, as he was fully aware of how bad an idea this was. That wasn’t going to stop him though.

He met with Hojo directly to discuss his proposal. The professor wasn’t initially inclined to take his request; the research itself wouldn’t be particularly helpful for Shinra. It was also a very niche problem to attempt to fix, making even the potential success have a small payoff. In the end, he framed it as a challenge, claiming that Hojo was refusing because he couldn’t succeed. Between that and a promise to owe the man a favor, the project finally got off the ground.

Sephiroth didn’t really mean to avoid Cloud while the research was being done, but it happened anyway. It froze something inside of him to see those dead eyes and blank expression. He began dodging the blond to avoid his own discomfort. He justified it with the knowledge that Cloud couldn’t actually be upset or miss him, making his avoidance have little impact. Zack stuck loyally by Cloud’s side and seemed to be coping by pretending nothing had changed.

It was all taking far longer than he had expected, and he hadn’t thought it would be quick. Hojo had other projects which were assigned to him by the company that took precedent. He also didn’t appreciate the fact that Sephiroth was supervising the work to be sure that he remained ethical (he was relatively sure this made Hojo drag his feet out of spite).

It was one very, very long year before any real progress was made. They had successfully transplanted emotional tissue in one of the local monsters that had been captured for experimentation purposes. It was a small step, as no creature aside from humans had a significant amount of the tissue. Even though it was small, it was still progress, and Sephiroth had been in a good mood for weeks after.

As they waited on the research, life continued on. Cloud had his SOLDIER exam, which he passed narrowly. His new motivation for joining the program was the pay raise and higher quality of life. He didn’t enjoy the theoretical learning or training, but he was still able to put in enough effort to improve.  The thought of a cushier life was the bulk of his reasoning, but there was also his complete indifference to what he did with his life. He was already here, already halfway into the program—might as well see it through. He didn’t care what he did with his life, had no dreams or aspirations, so he settled for the path he was already on.

He didn’t succeed at making any friends within the program. The other SOLDIERs, unaware of what had happened, found him eerie. They couldn’t put their finger on what was wrong, but something was just off about Cloud. They avoided him, but Cloud couldn’t care less.

It was another six months before any other progress worthy of note occurred. They had successfully used stem cells to regrow emotional tissue. It would make transplants significantly easier, reducing the possibility of the tissue being rejected.

Since that first year passed, Zack had begun pestering him about Cloud. He refused to give details, just insisted that he meet with the blond again. Sephiroth dodged the request over and over, until eventually Zack stopped asking. Before giving up, he had said that he needed a second set of eyes, someone else to be sure he was seeing what he thought he was. A month after giving up, Zack made one last request, pressing the importance of the matter. Sephiroth shut him down outright, no longer making excuses, just being upfront that he had no intention to meet Cloud again. He knew Zack wouldn’t be happy about it, but he hadn’t expected the burst of fury, or for him to slam his office door shut so hard that the doorjamb splintered. It made him curious, but not enough for him to risk seeing the strange not-Cloud again. Zack began avoiding him in retaliation, and while that stung, he still didn’t change his mind.

Another few weeks later, Hojo updated him. For some reason, the regrown tissue was rejecting and had killed nearly every test subject they’d performed the procedure on. He’d gone to the cafeteria after, though he had very little appetite with his black mood. It was mostly the draw of coffee that brought him, despite how terrible Shinra’s attempt at the drink was. He grabbed a sandwich while he was there, thinking that he would probably eat it at some point.

He had gotten halfway toward the door when he froze in place. He had let his eyes sweep over the tables, and what he caught sight of made him feel like someone had dumped ice down his back.

Cloud and Zack were seated together at a table, one across from the other. Zack was grinning, clearly delivering some sort of joke. That, in itself, was nothing unexpected. What stopped him dead in his tracks was the fact that Cloud was _laughing_. He was bent over, one hand pressed to his chest and the other to the tabletop, a wide, _sincere_ smile across his face. There were little tears at the corners of his closed eyes. Eventually, the laughter tapered off and Cloud wiped the tears from his eyes with a few tiny chuckles, shaking his head. When he finally answered Zack, the smile was still on his face.

His wide-eyed stare must have had some weight, because Cloud turned to look at him. The smile dropped immediately, his own blue eyes growing wide. He seemed to pale. A riot of emotion ( _emotion!_ ) passed over his face. Hesitance, hurt, fear, excitement, hope. Cloud broke eye contact, turning his stare down to the table, but it had been enough to pull Zack’s attention. Zack was staring back at him with an impatient, resigned but bitter look on his face. He wasn’t sure he was even wanted until Zack gestured with his head and pulled out the seat next to him.

Sephiroth crossed the crowded, noisy room and gingerly placed his coffee and food on the table. He lowered himself into the seat and looked between Cloud and Zack. Cloud continued staring at the table while Zack watched Sephiroth.

“What… happened?” he asked, looking between the two.

“I tried to tell you,” Zack said with no hint of his usual good mood. “You wouldn’t listen.”

Cloud just picked at a corner of the table where the wood had split from the plastic top.

“Cloud?” he asked, hesitant but gentle. “Are you… okay?”

The blond just nodded. He thought back, trying to find an answer for what had clearly happened in what that specialist had said.

_“Emotional tissue isn’t reliably regenerative. It happens sometimes, when someone has a lot of luck and a lot of medical traits that align just right, but it’s a one in one hundred chance of it happening. There’s zero chance of it regenerating if all of the tissue is removed, which seems to be what happened to the person you’re referring to.”_

Apparently all the tissue _hadn’t_ been gone. Apparently Cloud _was_ incredibly luck.

The moment stretched, Cloud unwilling to talk and Sephiroth with no clue of what to say. Eventually, Zack sighed.

“It came back slowly, but everything’s back to normal now,” Zack said before standing up and grabbing his tray. “You two have talking to do, now that you’re both in the same place despite both of your hard heads. I’m gonna go, but you had better talk this through.”

Sephiroth had no idea what that meant and watched Zack with confusion as he left. It wasn’t until he had fully exited the cafeteria that he looked back to Cloud.

“I’m… glad you’re better,” Sephiroth said, having no real clue of what he should say.

“Thanks,” Cloud mumbled.

When the silence stretched again, it was clear he wasn’t going to continue.

“You’ve been better for a while now, I take it,” Sephiroth guessed, remembering when Zack had asked for a second set of eyes months ago, knowing now that this must have been what he wanted the help for.

“A few months now, yeah,” he said.

He was still refusing to meet Sephiroth’s eyes, but it gave the man a chance to look him over. He looked healthy, without a hint of that emotionless stranger left. His eyes had that mako glow now; he knew they would, but he’d yet to see him since Cloud was inducted into SOLDIER.

               His pride made him reluctant, but it _was_ the right thing to do.

               “I owe you an apology, Cloud,” he said awkwardly, clearly unaccustomed to the words.

               It was, however, enough to make the blond look up at him in surprise.

               “When you were… as you were, it was difficult to be around you. You weren’t yourself, though you looked the same. You were gone and seeing a stranger in your skin made the loss too difficult to bear.”

               Cloud looked at him in wonder. It was clearly not what he had been expecting.

               “I thought you didn’t want to see me because of how I felt. That it was just too awkward now that you knew,” Cloud muttered, still shocked. Sephiroth shook his head.

               “Things had never been awkward when you loved me. Why would it start to be once the feelings were gone?”

               “I don’t know,” Cloud admitted, looking down at his hands. “I just thought you’d think of me differently once you knew.”

               “The way you felt didn’t change who you are. I’m being sincere when I say that the only reason I stayed away was that I mourned you,” Sephiroth said, tone quiet, gentle. It made Cloud look back up, eyes roving his face, looking for something.

               “It’s at least half my fault that things went on so long. I was avoiding you too,” Cloud said, though Sephiroth raised his eyebrow at the sentiment, and Cloud just shrugged.

               “Regardless,” Sephiroth said, tone turning just a hint warm. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

               Cloud watched the corners of Sephiroth’s mouth turn up and responded in kind.

               “I’m glad to be back. I missed you too. A lot.”

               Sephiroth stood, collecting his drink and food.

               “Come with me,” he said. “I want to know how things have been since you’ve been back.”

               Cloud gave a little laugh, saying, “That’s a lot of time to catch up on.”

               “Humor me. I’d love a reason to put off my paperwork.”

               The familiar teasing pulled another laugh from Cloud, who collected his own tray.

               “I see how it is,” Cloud joked back. “This is all just an excuse to procrastinate, isn’t it?”

               “It’s been a while since I’ve been irresponsible. I have lost time to make up for, I suppose.”

               Cloud went ahead of him to throw out his trash, shaking his head with a smile. The blond led the way from the cafeteria, Sephiroth following in his footsteps. As they walked, Sephiroth made a mental note to cancel his project with Hojo, now that it was blessedly unnecessary.

               He was back. Really, truly back. A weight lifted from his shoulders.

               Everything would finally be alright again.  


	3. Sephiroth

               As with every person, Sephiroth’s childhood impacted the man he became. It colored the vast majority of his life, perhaps more significantly than was common. It didn’t help that the circumstances of his childhood continued until he was a young adult.

               Being raised inside a laboratory as a science experiment was as damaging as it sounded. He had nothing but theoretical knowledge of the world outside his white walls. He was incapable of proper socializing, as his only frame of reference for conversation was orders and questions from the surrounding scientists. The natural inquisitive period of a young child was decimated for Sephiroth; his questions remained unanswered and he was punished for asking them in the first place. He generally only spoke when spoken to, his words always curt and to the point. It had been made obvious to him that the adults who surrounded him had no interest in his thoughts or opinions, so he stated the facts that they were looking for and added nothing unnecessary.

               He was a naturally intelligent individual, and this was one of the few traits the scientists cultivated. He learned quickly that he could find the answers to the questions he was forbidden to ask in books, and that his requests for reading material (given that it was educational) were always granted. His perfect memory and natural cleverness had him studying advanced material at a young age, much to the delight of the scientists who worked with him. Books were precious to him; not only were they his singular source for answers, they allowed him to learn about the world outside, even if it was barred to him.

               He studied biology to understand how humans functioned, the nature of animals and monsters, how different ecosystems worked. He studied physics to understand why things worked the way they did, why his sword worked well when handled in one way and poorly in another, how his physical feats that had him ricocheting between walls worked. He studied chemistry to understand what the scientists were doing to him, to remove the fear of the unknown.

               Though the scientists encouraged him to focus only on the hard sciences, his requests for other materials were also granted. Psychology helped him understand the human mind. History taught him the successful and unsuccessful ventures of the past, as well as the political climate of the world today. He was particularly told to study the history of warfare, training him in strategy. He liked the English books the least. He was given memoirs and journal articles and copies of speeches in hopes of making him charismatic. He learned how to write well, but public speaking would likely always be beyond him (it didn’t help that he was shushed at every given moment).

               He was given no works of fiction, as they had been deemed useless and a waste of time.

               His only other joy was physical activity. He was kept locked away for long hours, frequently unable to move at all because of one experiment or another. The opportunity to do something with his pent up energy was a blessed relief. He learned how to fight as quickly as he learned through his books and he threw himself into the endeavors with equal enthusiasm. He always aimed to be better than anticipated, because it was the only way he was ever praised.

               Some part of him, especially after he had been granted access to books, understood that what was happening to him was very abnormal. He was unable to admit it to himself, but he knew in his gut that what was happening was unethical and simply _wrong_. Some part of him did resent the scientists, but a larger part of him aimed to please; he was still a child. He had been taught how to behave using purely punishment, making any reward precious.

               He didn’t truly understand the severity of his situation until he was released from it, and even then, the knowledge didn’t come quickly. He was released from the labs at the age of 16, immediately given his rank as SOLDIER First Class and title as general. The rage and spite this caused in the ranks of both the army and SOLDIER was fierce; seasoned veterans found a teen as a leader to be an insult. His first introduction to people other than scientists was one full of hate. He wouldn’t realize until years later just how much he had been loathed, but even in the moment, he knew he wasn’t wanted.

               His rearing in the labs taught him that there was only one option: perform above expectation. It was how he had earned praise from the scientists, it followed that it would be how to win approval from the soldiers.

               He was given his chance immediately as, the day after his induction, he and what would become his men were dropped into the beginnings of the Wutai War.

               His abysmal social skills only widened the rift between him and the men around him. More than once, they were insubordinate, though they were careful about it. They did nothing obvious enough that they could be reprimanded, but they made his life hell. He had nearly given up on succeeding when his chance arrived.

               It was a brutal battle, but then, every fight of this war was proving to be brutal. It had come down to a near hopeless situation. Sephiroth and twenty of his men where penned in, pushed up against the wall of a mountain, with no escape. The men had given up hope, cursing their still silent leader, but they weren’t aware that _he_ hadn’t given up, that he was simply waiting for the opportune moment. 

               He waited until they were completely surrounded, all of the enemy’s forces in one place. And then he set to work.

               He used a lightning-quick mix of materia and swordplay to tear through their ranks. There had been over 200 enemy soldiers, but none survived. Sephiroth was calm when he finished, his breath only barely quickened. He flicked his hair out of his face before turning to his men, who were watching in shock and awe. He had looked at them with confusion; it was only 200. He’d been put up against simulators with triple that number before and come out unharmed. It was no spectacular feat for him, and he didn’t immediately understand that it would be for any other person.

               It was sheer fear that won the men over. The way he won that battle single-handedly and with apparent ease spread through the ranks. Now when they looked at him, it was with begrudging respect and fright. More than once, he overheard soldiers saying they were just glad he was on their side. The insubordination ceased, and the rest of the war went smoother. It was still difficult and its own form of hell, but it was certainly better than it had been.

               Things improved when one SOLDIER with a surprising amount of determination had confronted him after a battle. Zack Fair had been sweaty and sooty, but approached with a smile and extended hand.

               “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Zack Fair, SOLDIER Second Class. You saved my neck a couple of times out there, I wanted to thank you,” he said, voice chipper, as if they weren’t in the middle of a war.

               Sephiroth had never quite learned the art of facial expression, but there was the smallest wrinkle of confusion between his brows when he shook Zack’s hand.

               “You don’t owe me any gratitude,” he had said when their hands dropped. Zack had grinned and shook his head.

               “’Course I do. Even if you were just doing your job, I’m still alive because of you,” he answered.

               Sephiroth just stared at him, unsure of what to say.

               It surprised him when Zack laughed and said, “Boy, they weren’t kidding. C’mon, I think we’re just in time for whatever monstrosity they’re calling dinner.” He put a hand on Sephiroth’s shoulder and led him back into the camp. When Sephiroth shook it off (if the labs had taught him nothing else, it was a hatred for touch), he didn’t even seem to mind.

               After that day, Zack made it his mission to befriend Sephiroth. He was patient with his awkwardness and uncertainty. He knew how to coax him into conversation, but always respected when he said he didn’t wish to discuss a particular topic. He was boundless energy and frequent joy, making him a conundrum unlike any Sephiroth had ever faced. It should have been annoying, the way Zack bothered him constantly, showing up uninvited, calling him on his PHS, insisting they “hang out.” Somehow, in some strange, baffling way, it was endearing instead.

               It was an extended period of time before he was willing to reach out to Zack in return. The fear of suddenly being rebuffed or turned away plagued him, as he knew he couldn’t be good company, considering how bad he was around people. But Zack always seemed to have time for him or, when he was busy, always got back to him at the next available moment. He didn’t mind his awkward silence, the way he didn’t understand colloquialisms, or even said something hurtful without knowing it.

               Eventually, he grew comfortable with Zack. He trusted him, which is something he never thought would happen.  By the time the War ended, he considered Zack a friend.

               It took time for Sephiroth to adjust to civilian life. He had never had proper free time before, not when he was locked up with only books between training and experiments, when he was scraping together moments between battles. Frankly, he didn’t know what to do with himself. At first, he lingered on his paperwork, as it was the only familiar task he was left with. He was completely out of sorts in board meetings. His attempts at fulfilling SOLDIERs’ requests for training had been dismal. He had no idea how to handle himself in the tower, much less the city.

               It had started with the crowds. Zack was bringing Sephiroth to a restaurant he liked, heading out during the bustling rush hour. It wasn’t until they got to the restaurant itself that Zack noticed. Sephiroth was pale, every muscle tense, eyes darting about, head turning in response to sudden sounds. The only time he was surrounded by so many people was on the battlefield. He knew, logically, that it was statistically impossible for this crowd of people to be inclined to attack him. But it was muscle memory now, a gut response to a familiar situation, survival instinct kicking in. Zack had pulled him into a small side alley and talked him down, voice low and soothing, until the tension had dissipated. On the way back, Zack kept up a constant flow of babbling conversation, giving Sephiroth something else to focus on. It wasn’t until they were back at the tower that he realized how well it had worked.

               There were dozens of these scenarios. Neither the labs nor the war taught him how to live as a civilian, so Zack coached him through it. This, in conjunction with everything else Zack had done, made him trust the other man enough to be truly vulnerable. He confessed to Zack just why he did so poorly in so many situations. He told the story without undue detail, with a blank face, as if he was delivering a mission report.

               It was when happy-go-lucky Zack fell into a deep rage that Sephiroth began to understand the severity of labs. Zack had been furious, pacing, more than once heading toward the door with his hand on his hilt before remembering he couldn’t just go slaughter the entire Science Department. When the indignant anger had passed, Zack became surprisingly gentle. He swore that he would tell no one else, he thanked him for trusting him enough to share the story. Sephiroth, who so hated being touched, even returned the slight squeeze Zack gave his hand when silence fell.

               Sephiroth had believed that was it. He was under no delusions that he would find more than one person who accepted him as Zack had, and honestly, he didn’t mind. One close friend was more than he had ever expected. He was content with the situation, until he wasn’t.

               A few months after Zack made First, he apparently found another friend. Zack had always had other friends; Sephiroth knew this and was okay with it. But the way he took to the cadet stirred something ugly in him. Zack was spending more and more time with the cadet that he would have usually spent with Sephiroth. After pulling up his file, he couldn’t see what strange, powerful draw Cloud Strife had.

               Sephiroth’s jealousy went entirely over Zack’s head, as excited as he was about his friendship with Strife. The envy only grew when Zack began describing him. Socially awkward, hesitant, quiet. Treated with distance by his peers, entirely alone, though he seemed accustomed to it. In need of someone to show him the ropes, to guide him into comfort with the unfamiliar city. It all sounded painfully familiar.

               He had seen Strife from a distance a handful of times. Slight, but hints at the beginning of muscle tone in his arms, pretty face, wide blue eyes. He appeared bashful in a way Sephiroth had never been. He had hidden his uncertainty and awkwardness behind a stoic face and a dead silence. Strife hid it with a blush and a ducked head when around Zack. He hid literally around everyone else, apparently deciding that the way to avoid showing poor social skill was to avoid everyone else, where as it had been the people around him that had hid from Sephiroth. He had always had a presence, where Strife seemed to have none. He was a weaker version of the man Sephiroth had been when he finally left the labs. He didn’t see the draw.

               However, he found he could begrudge Zack of nothing. The man had been too supportive, was too close a friend to turn down out of pettiness. He agreed to meet Strife properly later one night at Zack’s apartment for pizza and bad movies (the first few times Zack had invited him over, it had also been for the same; he had said they were good for breaking the ice).

               He promised himself he would behave, but knew it was unlikely that he would actually follow through. He was curt and blunt at best, outright caustic around people he didn’t like. He doubted Zack would appreciate him speaking to his little cadet with venom, but all he could do was apologize for it later. Perhaps it would get him out of future social gatherings.

               When he reached the door, he knocked twice before letting himself in, the way he always did. What greeted him was decidedly not what he expected.

               He had seen Zack and Strife laugh with each other from a distance, but the experience was wildly different this close. As he appeared to be usually concerned or hesitant, he was used to seeing Strife with a pinched look on his face. Though he had always managed to look pretty in spite of it, he was outright beautiful this way. His head was tossed back as he laughed, features changed and softened with mirth. His smile was captivating, and when he opened his eyes, the joy in them, the way they tilted up at the corners, was stunning. Sephiroth paused in the doorway, surprised at the image, further surprised that it had shaken his hate from him. Zack turned to face him, still grinning.

               “Hey, Seph, come in!” he said, nodding his head toward the couches.

               He was almost disappointed to see the happiness fade from Strife’s face. The familiar hesitance was back as he looked back at him nervously. His fingers plucked at the hem of his shirt out of anxiety. Yet another person afraid of him. He supposed it was better than the rabid fans.

               Sephiroth crossed into the room, extending his hand toward Strife when he was close enough.

               “Sephiroth,” he introduced. “It’s nice to meet you.”

               He knew how to be polite now. Maybe if he started the night off well, Zack would forgive him if (when) he slipped and spoke to the cadet harshly.

               Strife had popped to his feet and shook his hand; he was surprised to find a firm grip in spite of the blond’s obvious hesitance.

               “Cloud Strife, sir,” he said, a faint warble in his tone; he really was nervous to meet him. “It’s nice to meet you as well.”

               Well, he’d had worse introductions. At least there was no stuttering.

               “You’re free to drop the formalities in private,” he said, though he distinctly didn’t want to. He wanted that distance between himself and Strife (especially after the strange sight the evening began with). He knew Zack would say it if he didn’t, though, and this way, he seemed more polite.

               Strife nodded and said, “Thank you,” with a brief flash of a smile. He seemed to be waiting for Sephiroth’s permission, or Zack’s as he glanced back at him, but eventually sat back down without the invitation. Sephiroth sat at his side; if they didn’t sit across from one another, at least Strife wouldn’t be constantly in his field of vision.

               Zack took over quickly, asking them about pizza and movies and their days. Sephiroth knew he was being more closed off than he would if he was alone with Zack, but the man couldn’t _really_ be expecting anything else.

               Strife grew more comfortable as the evening progressed and Sephiroth successfully avoided biting his head off. By the end of it, the cadet was smiling and laughing relatively freely, even if he did seem uncertain and bashful in Sephiroth’s presence. He even made a few of his own attempts to start conversation with the general, without Zack’s prompting. Overall, the evening went better than Sephiroth had anticipated.

               Yet for some strange reason, he always glanced at Strife when he laughed. His gaze lingered when he laughed longer or the few times a faint, pink blush had appeared high on his cheeks. He felt something pass through him every time, but it was utterly foreign, and he completely failed to place it. In spite of it, his feelings about Strife were largely unchanged; he had won a small piece of begrudging respect for his politeness and the way he stopped being so nervous by the end of the night (and the way he smiled).

               Zack had thanked him the next day. He admitted that Strife had been incredibly anxious about meeting him, though that much was obvious. Strife had, apparently, had a good time, and Sephiroth lied through his teeth, claiming he did as well. Zack took that as an opportunity to invite him to another evening with the cadet.

               He began to rethink his strategy. It might not be the best idea to give Zack a false impression, even if it was spare his feelings. He always appreciated Zack’s honesty; it was likely the man would feel the same.

               He decided to give Strife one more night to prove himself, and when he didn’t, he would confess his true feelings on the matter to Zack.

               The evening went better than the first. The three had gone out for dinner, which removed the conversational buffer of the movies. He thought that would be certain to ruin the night, but there were no uncomfortable silences. Strife had greeted him with a smile and a wave this time. He’d asked about his day and actually seemed interested in the brief summary he gave. Throughout the night, he made more attempts to keep Sephiroth a part of the conversation. By the end of it, his nervousness seemed to be gone; perhaps he had assumed that if Sephiroth was going to react negatively toward him, he would have done so by then.

               Over lunch the next day, he had intended to come clean with Zack. The words had been on the tip of his tongue when he hesitated.

               The second night had been filled with the same strange moments as the first. Strife’s laugh and smile made him feel something strange. Apparently, the look of honest excitement and even the brief mischievous look he’d given Zack when he returned the man’s teasing did the same. Much as Zack had when they’d first met, the cadet was proving a conundrum, and if Sephiroth had no other true weakness, it was his curiosity.

               He changed the topic and kept the matter to himself.

               As Cloud opened up more (somewhere along the line, he forgot to keep to his surname, forgot to keep up the distance it afforded him), Sephiroth felt the odd sensation more frequently. Different expressions and shifting body language all caused it, though there was no real pattern to it (except that each made Cloud look lovely in a way that was completely new to him). He dropped the idea of telling Zack he didn’t want to be around Cloud entirely. Eventually, even his all-consuming jealousy had faded, because Cloud stopped being _Zack’s_ friend and became _their_ friend.

               He anticipated the first time he was alone with Cloud to be a train wreck, but somehow, it had all come so easy. Though there were a few major differences, they were largely alike in disposition, and it made their meetings comfortable. They shared silences, but they were companionable. More than once, Cloud had come to his office during his free time to study, seeking both the silence of his office that was conspicuously absent in the barracks and Sephiroth’s company. They didn’t speak more than a few sentences with each other during these occasions, but they didn’t have to.

               He never quite managed to puzzle out the strange feeling, as it never occurred with anyone other than Cloud. He likely never would have without the catalyst.

               It began about a month after he had met Cloud. He was in his office doing paperwork, Cloud bent over a book on materia theory on his couch. Occasionally, the blond would ask him to clarify things the book explained poorly, but that was their only conversation outside of the greeting they had shared.

               He had just finished explaining the difference in the manner of activation between Summon and Elemental materia when he felt a tickle in the back of his throat. He attempted to clear it, and then did so several more times with a look of outright confusion on his face. Eventually, what had been stuck on the back of his airway came up and pressed against the roof of his mouth.

               Cloud was watching with obvious concern on his face. When the coughing ended, Sephiroth shook his head as explanation. Cloud raised his eyebrows in response, and Sephiroth just shrugged. Assuming that he would mention it if something was actually wrong, Cloud nodded briefly and returned to his reading.

               As discretely as possible, he pulled the offending object from his mouth. He hid his hand against his lap, under the desk, when he stared blankly at the white petal cradled in his palm. He stared longer than he should have out of simple failure to comprehend what was happening. He hadn’t seen a natural flower since Wutai, and upon further inspection, he was sure it wasn’t a plastic petal. He brushed it off his hand and into the trash, putting the matter aside. There was little he could do with Cloud in the room anyway.

               He intended to look into it the second he had privacy, but his day became suddenly hectic. Both Cloud and Sephiroth looked up as someone burst into the office, looking harried. He didn’t even get a chance to ask what had happened before he was interrupted.

               “Some giant _thing_ showed up just outside Junon,” he said, panicky, tripping over his words. “It pulled a helicopter right out of the sky. They’ve been sending troopers to contain it, but it’s slaughtering them.”

               Sephiroth was on his feet before the man finished. He plucked Masamune from where it was resting in a stand on the wall.

               “You’re free to use my office for as long as you like,” he said, pausing briefly in the door. He looked over his shoulder, and Cloud still looked surprised, his eyebrows near his hairline. He nodded mutely—a gesture Sephiroth returned before leaving.

               While in the helicopter on his way to Junon, he reminded himself to do his research when he had the opportunity. In the chaos of destroying the strange creature and helping clean up the aftermath, the matter completely slipped his mind.

               The second time it happened, it was the middle of the night. The coughing fit had pulled him from sleep. He pulled two twin peach petals from his mouth this time. He stared at it blankly, uncomprehending in his still-mostly-asleep state. When he remembered the original white petal, he set the peach set to the side on his nightstand. He’d had a rough day beforehand and didn’t sleep at all last night to meet a deadline; he had missed three other nights this week on an extended, dangerous mission. He theoretically _could_ go without any more sleep, but he was exhausted, and his bed was too tempting, as warm and soft as it was. He decided to look into it in the morning, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

               He had, unthinkingly, put the petals on his right nightstand. His PHS and alarm clock were on the left. When he had slapped the alarm off, he was still half-asleep, eyes half-lidded and bleary. He knew he hadn’t fully caught up on his sleep when he nearly walked into the doorjamb mid-yawn. He wasn’t fully awake until he was sitting in his kitchen, already half-finished his coffee, flicking through the news on his phone.

               When he returned to bed that night, he was heading to bed with a purpose, determined to wake up refreshed this time. He had flung his comforter and sheets back with more force than usual; the breeze created swept the petals off the nightstand, slipping down the crack between it and the wall.

               The third time nearly got him killed. He was in the middle of a fight with a Marlboro. He only just managed to parry a tentacle as he coughed. The fit got him caught in a spray of its poisonous breath, which snapped the last of his patience. He hadn’t brought Esuna with him and usually relied on Cure, carrying no potions or antidotes with him. He was going to have to deal with the poison until he could return to Fort Condor, and he still had three other Marlboros to deal with. He spat four purple petals into the mud at his feet before launching himself back into the fight. His temper ran away from him, and he was too busy being bitter about the poison to remember the petals.

               Kept at bay by the mako, his immune system had been able to fight off the beginning effects. He hadn’t realized he had a crush on Cloud, but by the time he coughed up that first petal, he’d been well into love territory for over a month. The mako had been successful in tempering the effects when they were still weak, but the disease was too hardy for it to be cured entirely. There were very few diseases that mako couldn’t cure, but only three SOLDIERs had died of illness in the history of the program. All had developed some form of cancer, leading the scientists to believe that it was the only illness that was mako-resistant. Though this one was most common in Wutai, it was still incredibly rare there. Most cases in Midgar were contracted on some trip to the island nation. Sephiroth had picked it up during the war itself. Its resistance to mako made it so that the disease had already progressed a considerable amount before the effects began. Now that it had started, it was like the illness had gained momentum, getting worse at a considerable speed.

               Sephiroth had been in the shower the fourth time. He had needed to brace his arm against the tiles as he coughed, remembering the previous occasions now that it had (rather forcibly) gotten his attention. He cursed himself for letting it slip his mind; it wasn’t something he did often, though it was not unheard of. It ended with a particularly sharp cough. Catching his breath, he pulled a single white gardenia from his lips. He set it aside, though he certainly didn’t forget it this time. He rushed the rest of his shower, mind turning the matter over and over again. There were no real flowers in Midgar to his knowledge. Certainly not in Shinra tower. The last time he’d seen a true bloom had been in Wutai, but that was so long ago, he doubted the two were related. In his studies of biology and the residual knowledge he had picked up in the labs, the human body could produce a wide variety of things, but _flowers_ were not among them.

               He rushed his morning routine the same way he rushed his shower. His hair was still damp when he reached his office, but he was alarmed and concerned, thoughts always circling back to the gardenia still sitting on his sink. As soon as he was seated at his desk, he pulled out his laptop. He had work to do, quite a lot actually, but his health took precedent. At least by being in his office, people would assume he was working, leaving him undisturbed when he would have received phone call after phone call if he had failed to show up.

               It took him longer than expected to find his answer. There were a few questions about it posted on a handful of websites, all answers sarcastically condemning the asker for their wild imagination. He’d rephrased his search time and again, but it was only once he turned to a scientific database including published, scholarly articles that he found an answer.

_“Hanahaki: a disease triggered by unrequited love, wherein the victim coughs up flower until the infection is removed surgically, removing the romantic feelings along with the petals, or the romantic feelings are returned (failure to perform surgery in time leads to slow asphyxiation caused by flowers clogging the airway).”_

               He stared at the article with absolutely no comprehension. Unrequited love? He considered briefly that they were referring to platonic love, but as he glanced over the definition again, his hopes were dashed. The word “romantic” glared up at him, and he glared back at it. He’d been about to look for cases caused by platonic love despite the definition when it dawned on him.

               That strange feeling that hit him when Cloud smiled, or laughed, or did any number of endearing things. The flutter of butterflies in his stomach, the swell of affection in his chest. The way he smiled more readily and laughed freer around him. The way he kept glancing at his lips, the way his eyes lingered on the strip of revealed skin when he stretched with his arms over his head. He knew his feelings for Cloud were more intense than his feelings for Zack, now (which he felt distinctly guilty over), but he assumed it was an innocent preference. They were more alike, had more things in common than either did with Zack. He had been so sure that was where the matter ended. He hadn’t considered that he’d been _in love_ with Cloud this entire time.

               It took him most of the day to fully wrap his head around it. Though he tried to work, it kept snagging his thoughts. He loved Cloud. He _loved_ Cloud. He loved him romantically. When the harsher truth hit him, his stomach sank further and he paused to press his palm over his eyes.

               He loved Cloud, but Cloud didn’t love him back.

               It had taken him some time to pull away from that knowledge. He more or less succeeded in distracting himself with work for the rest of the day. He had plans with Zack and Cloud tonight, but he canceled, citing paperwork. They would have provided a welcome distraction, but he didn’t think he could handle being around Cloud at the moment. Cloud messaged him, and it had taken more willpower than expected to read it.

               _From: Cloud_

_Good luck on your paperwork! I hope it doesn’t take too long. Remember to eat and try to get some sleep tonight, I know you forget when you get wrapped up in work. If you finish early enough, come down to Zack’s! The barracks are pretty rowdy on weekends, so I’m going to stay at Zack’s again. We’ll probably be up for a while, you can swing by even if you finish kind of late, but don’t give up too much sleep just to see us. Wish you could be here! Zack’s going to talk my ear off without you. Miss you!_

               Something in Sephiroth’s heart clenched as he read. Why did Cloud have to make this more difficult than it had to be? He didn’t trust himself to answer it, but it didn’t seem like Cloud was expecting a response.

               He ended up staying up quite late, despite Cloud’s wishes (or perhaps in spite of them). None of his options were particularly good. Considering the rarity of the disease, it was unlikely that any of the staff were trained to properly handle Hanahaki. If he risked going at all, Hojo would be notified, as he was the primary staff member responsible for Sephiroth’s health. The last thing he wanted was the professor poking around his insides again. Regardless, Hanahaki didn’t seem like something Hojo would spend the time to learn about in detail, making him a useless option as well.

               He was sure he could find someone trained to handle it. It would cost ridiculous amounts of money, but if he sent the bill to the company, they would be certain to pay, and with the disease cured, Hojo would have no cause to investigate. No, that was still not a good option; Hojo couldn’t be as invasive, but he would still be interested. Besides, he was paid ridiculous amounts of money, and he spent very little of it. The funds were available.

               The idea of anyone at the company knowing that he was in love, much less unrequited love, made him feel incredibly vulnerable. Better to find a specialist who could treat the disease, take their money, and leave him alone for the foreseeable future. He could have them sign a confidentiality agreement before treatment so the news wouldn’t spread. Damage control was possible.

               Though he had determined a decent path, he found himself surprisingly reluctant. He just realized his feelings, and he wasn’t quite ready to part with them. They may be unreciprocated, but he could still enjoy them, finally truly tap into the emotions now that he knew what they were.

               It was dawn when he finally made his decision (his mind flickered briefly to Cloud’s reminder to sleep—he would be reprimanded if he was caught). The episodes themselves were still spaced out. It was apparently abnormal for full flowers to come before an increase in frequency, but it didn’t seem like he was in immediate danger. He could stall. He promised himself that he would seek treatment when he entered dangerous territory. It was unlike him to not deal with problems directly and swiftly, but the more he considered immediate treatment, the more the entirety of his heart seemed to dig its heels in and balk. It wasn’t necessarily the safest option, but it was the best compromise he could come up with.

               Sephiroth had intended to avoid Cloud for a few days, to wrap his mind fully around the situation if nothing else. It didn’t seem fated to be.

               He had just settled into his office when he heard a quiet knock at the door. Before he got a chance to answer, Cloud poked his head inside. Sephiroth’s breath caught as Cloud gave him a dazzling smile while entering the room. He had only just remembered to breathe when Cloud put a cup of coffee and a bagel on his desk in front of him before dropping into his spare chair. He knew he should offer a greeting of some sort, but his heart was in his throat. The swell of emotion was nearly overpowering—how had he not noticed this?

               As the silence hung, Cloud looked over him, before eventually saying, “You didn’t sleep last night, did you.”

               He used Sephiroth’s habit of making questions into statements, a quirk the blond had apparently picked up on. It caused a low swoop of feeling in his stomach that they were close enough to trade mannerisms that way.

               He was late in responding as he reprimanded himself for letting his emotions get so out of hand.

               “…. I may not have,” he admitted, though he left off the why. Cloud groaned and rolled his eyes in response.

               “I know you _can_ go without sleep, but that doesn’t mean you _should_ ,” Cloud scolded.

               “I’ll do my best to avoid it in the future,” he offered, which Cloud answered with a snort.

               “You’ve been saying that since I met you.”

               Sephiroth shrugged, saying, “I have been _attempting_ to avoid it.”

               “ _Sure_ you have,” Cloud answered before climbing to his feet. “I have to get to class, but do you want to do dinner tonight?”

               “Yes,” Sephiroth agreed. There was no mention of Zack. The thought of being around Cloud, alone, for the entire evening was both exciting and nerve-wracking.

               Cloud flashed him that brilliant smile and said, “See you tonight then!” With a wave of his hand, he was gone.

               Sephiroth groaned and dropped his face into his hands. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

               Admittedly, he found he did like the feeling of butterflies in his stomach and the swell of affection that rose in his chest. The warmth that spread through him and the smile that was always just moments away from his lips were pleasant. He was not, by nature, a particularly emotional individual. But his feelings for Cloud were by no means small, and he was enjoying them more than he thought he would.

               His mind kept flickering from topic to topic the entire rest of the day, significantly impacting his productivity. His thoughts kept coming back to Cloud. He tried to pin down just what it was about the cadet that impacted him so much. He was much more than a pretty face, though he certainly had that as well. He was charming in an innocent, unassuming way. His habits and mannerisms were endearing. He understood Sephiroth, perhaps more than anyone else ever had. His company was always pleasant, whether they spoke or not. These were all good things, and the sum of them was significant, but that wasn’t the heart of the matter.

               Cloud simply treated him in a way no one else did. He was gentle and kind. Sephiroth was, by no means, a person who needed to be coddled. His will and determination were iron. He was incredibly strong, in more ways than one. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still human. No one in his life had truly treated him with care. As a child, he had been desperate for praise from the adults around him. As he learned the horror of what had been done to him, he came to resent the scientists, even the company itself at some level. He no longer sought approval, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need it.

               He had always imagined that tenderness would feel condescending, but when it came from Cloud, it was anything but. Cloud never tried to make himself seem superior; the thought of someone so shy and humble doing so was honestly a little laughable. His care was honest. He was gentle because he believed Sephiroth deserved it.

               It came in a form as quiet and unassuming as Cloud was himself. He would give compliments when they were earned and praised him when it was deserved. He asked about his day, his mood, his health out of sincere interest. He took care of Sephiroth in little ways, like sending him messages to remind him to eat and sleep, like bringing him food and coffee when he knew he did neither. He sought out Sephiroth’s company willingly and with enthusiasm, never leaving any doubt that he was wanted. He bought Sephiroth trinkets and little things that he happened across if for no other reason than they reminded him of Sephiroth and he thought they would be appreciated. He always offered to help, whether it was with cooking food, running paperwork, or picking him up after mako injections when he was weak. He trusted Cloud with the whole of him, with his weakness, his vulnerability, his heart.

               Cloud was soft and caring and precious. He shouldn’t have been so surprised that he fell in love.

               It took most of their dinner that night, but Sephiroth managed to find his way around his feelings. The pain of his love being unrequited faded as time went, as did his nervousness that Cloud would guess at his new secret. He _was_ able to let himself just enjoy the feeling of being in love.

               He didn’t regret his decision. He savored every moment he spent with Cloud, every time his heart fluttered or his love grew. To think, he would have missed out on this entirely if he had acted immediately! He never thought procrastination would pay off so much.

               Though it was worth it, his decision did come with difficulties. He found no one other than Cloud or Zack was willing to question him about his slowly increasing coughing fits, but the two were decidedly unwilling to overlook them. Zack pressed him to go to the infirmary, only backing off when he was told that such an action would draw Hojo’s attention. Cloud didn’t try to tell him what he should do, but he looked at him with a little wrinkle between his brows and a frown on his lips when he asked over and over again if Sephiroth was okay. He tried a few times to ask if he’d been to the infirmary about it, but when Sephiroth had given him a flat no, he relented. He felt bad that he was worrying the two, but he was still unwilling to forfeit his love.

               Sephiroth was, for the first time in his life, in denial. Things progressed, and did so much more quickly than he had hoped. It was getting harder and harder to dodge Zack and Cloud’s concern. He pretended that things weren’t _quite_ bad enough yet. He lied to himself, saying that he wasn’t in dangerous territory yet, not really. Even when the flowers began coming up blood-flecked, he refused to admit the severity of his condition.

               It had taken a harsh wake-up call for him to stop hiding from the truth. He had just woken up, still mostly asleep and groggy. He hadn’t even fully sat up yet when the fit hit him. He doubled over where his feet were planted on the floor, one hand on his knee to support himself, the other at his lips. Flower after flower kept coming, red rose after white violet after yellow chrysanthemum, all speckled with blood. He had barely gotten to pull in a deep breath before it got worse. Whatever was stuck in his throat was difficult to bring up, no matter how much he coughed. It had stayed in place entirely for a few seconds, completely blocking off his airflow. He only got through it by reaching into his mouth and grabbing the flower peeking out from the back of his throat. He had to manually pull out the vine of honeysuckle he was choking on.

               He had stared at the bouquet on the floor for longer than he intended to, mind reeling. It had been a close call, too close for his comfort. No matter how happy being in love made him, it wasn’t worth death. He resolved to begin scheduling treatment as soon as he finished his morning routine and was safely in the privacy of his office.

               Though he was still reluctant, he found the number of a specialist in Midgar and got on the phone. The doctor agreed to meet with him later that day, after he had spoken of the need for urgency and promised proper monetary compensation. The rest of the day had been thankfully uneventful, but he was still dreading the appointment.

               Once there, the doctor scolded him thoroughly for avoiding treatment for so long. After relating the story of the close call that morning, he was scheduled for surgery on Saturday. It wasn’t as immediate as the doctor wanted, but considering it was Monday, it was still relatively quick.

               He resolved to spend as much time with Cloud as he could until the surgery itself, determined to make the most of the last time he had. After a brief call, the blond agreed to dinner and an extended movie night. Given that they were likely to go late into the night, Cloud had asked to sleep there, and Sephiroth had been happy to agree.

               There was nothing remarkable about the time they spent together, either that night or any time after. It was comfortably routine, and Sephiroth committed every moment to memory, certain that he would miss these calm moments the most.

               He was so caught up in the effort of making the most of his last days in love that he missed it entirely. There was no severe coughing fit after the first, the one that convinced him to seek treatment. The frequency of his fits was slowing.

               Cloud had spent Friday night at his apartment as well, and Sephiroth was glad for it, as it gave him one last chance for a few sweet moments before it was all over. Cloud liked to wake up later than Sephiroth, so he didn’t catch sight of the blond as he went to take his shower Saturday morning. Normally, the blond would be in the kitchen when he finished, making coffee since he couldn’t be trusted to actually cook breakfast without burning it. Cloud’s absence was not what was of note.

               What _was_ significant was when he began coughing in the shower. He’d grown accustomed enough to the process that he continued showering, one hand busy covering his mouth. It was shorter than usual, but it was nothing he noticed. In fact, none of it really got his attention until he went to pluck out the flower.

               His first grab at it missed, doing nothing more than drip soapy water on his tongue. Confused, he pressed his (annoyingly still soap-covered) thumb to his tongue to pull the flower away, only to find it significantly smaller than he expected. Confused, he held it up to look at it.

               It was only a petal.

               He stared at it in confusion until the sound of Cloud shutting a door in the hall snapped him out of it. He set the petal aside carefully, still bewildered, but resumed his shower.

               Hanahaki wasn’t supposed to be curable. Maybe there had never been a case involving someone who was mako-enhanced, so no one was aware. There was a possibility that the mako had simply needed time to fight the infection off and his immune system was finally doing its job properly. Now aware, thanks to the petal, he thought back to the past few days, realizing now that the fits _had_ been tapering off.

               It was a huge relief. He had no fondness for major surgery, regardless of how fast he would heal. The doctor would likely be unhappy when he called later today to cancel, but he was willing to still pay her part of the full price of the surgery for her time and assistance.

               He told himself he was just relieved because he could avoid the operation. He adamantly ignored his joy at being able to keep his feelings after all. That didn’t stop him from having a small spring to his step as he finished dressing and went out to the kitchen.

               As expected, Cloud was sitting at his island, a cup between his palms. It smelled of coffee and the cinnamon Cloud always mixed into the grounds, an old Nibel trick his mother taught him. He was given a smile when he walked into the room. He was perhaps a little uncharacteristically unobservant in his good mood; Cloud’s smile had been brief and a touch tight, as if he was nervous.

               “Good morning,” he greeted as he went to pour himself his own cup.

               “Morning,” Cloud answered, blowing across the top of his mug, mostly for something to do.

               “The usual?” Sephiroth asked, finishing doctoring up his coffee.

               “Sure.”

               He took a brief sip before setting the mug aside, making pancakes. Sephiroth learned quite a while ago that they were Cloud’s favorite food. Apparently sugar had been scarce in Nibelheim, making sweets of any sort a rare treat. It was something for special occasions, and his mother always let Cloud choose what sort of fruit to mix into the batter. They were easy enough to make, with all ingredients readily available in Midgar and the cooking process itself simple, so Sephiroth made them whenever Cloud spent the night at his apartment. It was worth it to see the delight on his face.

               The kitchen was quiet as he worked, but it usually was. Zack was the one who seemed to hate silence, always filling it with chatter. Sephiroth didn’t notice the way Cloud kept glancing at him anxiously, or the way he kept shifting in his seat, his thoughts too occupied by his good fortune and his suddenly functional immune system.

               The silence lasted through the majority of the meal, only occasionally interrupted by questions on how each other had slept and plans for that day (Sephiroth didn’t mention the surgery, but felt no need to, considering he would be cancelling it). Cloud always insisted on doing the dishes, considering it only fair since Sephiroth did the cooking. Sephiroth sipped at his coffee, feeling at peace with the morning, the company, and the background sound of running water.

               He rose when his coffee was done, going to hand it off to Cloud, who would always argue with him if he tried to wash the mug himself. Cloud took the cup from him and Sephiroth turned away to go back to his seat. He only got halfway through turning when Cloud reached out and snatched his wrist with one wet, soapy hand.

               “I, uh, sorry, just—” Cloud apologized, looking strangely flustered as he dried his hands and held the towel out to Sephiroth, who dried his wrist with a look of confusion.

               “Is something wrong?” he asked, looking the blond over carefully now. He looked tense and singularly nervous.

               Instead of answering, Cloud filled the mug with water and set it in the sink before flicking off the tap. He seemed to steel himself before he turned back and met Sephiroth’s eyes.

               “I…” Cloud started before frowning, biting his lip, and then shaking his head. He appeared sheepish when he looked back up. “I, uh, don’t really know where to start.”

               With concern, Sephiroth said, “From the beginning. If there’s something wrong, you know I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

               Cloud blew out a heavy breath, the tension returning.

               “I—well, I—… _shit_ ,” Cloud cursed, a rarity in and of itself. Sephiroth’s eyebrows rose. “I really don’t know how to say this.”

               “As simply as you can,” Sephiroth suggested, brows furrowed in worry.

               He looked at Sephiroth, considering his face and his options. He chewed absently at his lip for a few more seconds before seeming to reach a conclusion. He pulled himself up straight, a familiar look of determination coming over his features.

               In one quick, unexpected motion, Cloud reached out. He took Sephiroth’s face between his hands and pulled him down, rising up on his own toes to meet in the middle. Their lips pressed together, firm, simple, and sweet. Sephiroth’s eyes were wide with surprise at first, but Cloud’s were closed. Neither deepened the kiss, but neither did they pull away. His eyelids fluttered closed, heart hammering against his chest.

               When they eventually leaned back, they opened their eyes slowly, both remaining heavy-lidded as they considered each other, until the reality of what happened hit Sephiroth. A look of surprise came over his face and he straightened, fingers rising to press against his lips in surprise. Cloud bit his bottom lip again, suddenly looking uncertain.

               Sephiroth’s mind was racing. What did this _mean?_ He knew some people had arrangements, were “friends with benefits,” was that what Cloud wanted? Was he… attracted to him? Sephiroth dearly hoped so, but he didn’t think he could be intimate with Cloud, not knowing his own feelings and how they weren’t returned.

               … Returned.

               Returned?

               His brain stuttered to a stop.

               _“Hanahaki: a disease triggered by unrequited love, wherein the victim coughs up flower until the infection is removed surgically, removing the romantic feelings along with the petals, or the romantic feelings are returned (failure to perform surgery in time leads to slow asphyxiation caused by flowers clogging the airway).”_

_“ **—or until the romantic feelings are returned.”**_

               It wasn’t his immune system. Mako wasn’t related _at all_.

               He loved Cloud, and apparently, Cloud loved him too.

               In a quick surge of motion, Sephiroth returned Cloud’s gesture, cupping his face and tilting it up to kiss him again. This time, things only _began_ chaste. Cloud’s lips parted against his own and there they were, trading breath. Their noses bumped as they adjusted their angle, mouths slanting against each other just right. Cloud licked lightly at his bottom lip and Sephiroth gave chase, kissing him thoroughly, mapping out his mouth. He tasted like sugar-sweetened coffee. He tasted like maple syrup and blueberry pancakes. He tasted like safety and home and _love_.

               When they were eventually forced to pull apart for breath, they stayed firmly in each other’s space. Somewhere along the line, their bodies had pressed together, Cloud’s arms around his neck, Sephiroth’s around his waist, each pulling the other close. They pressed their foreheads together, catching their breath in silence that felt strangely sweet.

               “I—that wasn’t what I wanted to tell you,” Cloud admitted quietly, their lips brushing together from their nearness. “It’s part of it, but not all of it.”

               “Tell me,” Sephiroth encouraged, voice quiet enough that Cloud would have missed it if they were any further apart.

               “I think I love you,” he said, voice as small as Sephiroth’s had been.

               Sephiroth pulled away to look at Cloud. His eyes roamed over his face, trying to make sure, trying to be certain he understood correctly. Cloud looked—well, nervous. As nervous as anyone would be about admitting to a friend that they loved them. A small, sweet smile came over Sephiroth’s lips.

               “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that.”

               Cloud looked at him in surprise; it was, apparently, the last thing he had expected. With a laugh, Sephiroth pulled him closer, kissing him again.

               Everything was going to be fine.


End file.
